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The Cruel Fae King
Copyright 2019 A.K. Koonce & Rebecca Grey
All Rights Reserved
Editing by Copeland Edits
Cover design by Methyss’ Coven
No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without express written permission from the author. Any unauthorized use of this material is prohibited.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Created with Vellum
Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Epilogue
Also By A.K. Koonce
About A.K. Koonce
Also By Rebecca Grey
About Rebecca Grey
Prologue
The Other Princess
Emella
Move faster.
Wild wind made from my own frantic movements whips past me. The night air lifts my lavender hair up off my shoulders, leaving them exposed, bare, and cold. Claw-like branches catch in the strands, tugging them violently, but I keep moving.
A heavy canopy of leaves withholds almost all of the moon’s silver light. Animals coo and caw unaware of the pursuit through their home. Twigs snap under my feet, giving my assailant awful telling clues to follow. Every urgent step within the twisting, grabbing, brush is a weary memory game that I’m hastily losing.
I must keep moving.
Footfalls sound heavy behind me, sending goosebumps over my naked body. Closer and closer they grow. Louder and louder, like my adrenaline-fueled heartbeat. Fear is my enemy as it renders my limbs awkward and heavy, sending me stumbling into the thicket. I know my end is finally here.
Holding my head high, I glare into the dark sinister eyes of the fae who will undoubtedly end my life; . A velvet black cloak hangs down to the forest floor, covering his lithe figure. But I know. I know exactly who hides underneath that cloak. I know him all too well.
My ears catch the bubbling sound of the river. So near. I crawl frantically backward toward the sound. Just a touch of the water. Or if I could get near enough to call it to me, drown out his fire. The small sliver of hope keeps my aching legs moving. Cuts along my limbs scream in protest as the silver blood trickles out of the wounds.
“You are no longer of use, Princess Emella.” His words make my heart tremble. Large palms wrap around my ankle, drawing me to him, my hands searching for purchase amongst the scattering leaves and twigs.
May Goddess Nature lead me. May she guide me in the present.
The familiar prayer doesn’t feel as holy as it once did.
“This kingdom will never truly be yours.” I spit toward my attacker.
“Stupid, stupid girl. I don’t want power. I want divine peace.” He says he wants peace. Even as he lunges at me.
Cold steel stings as it slices my neck. Fresh silver blood immediately crawls down my throat.
May she guide me . . . even in the life after this one . . .
One
The Forgotten Princess
Syren
Twisted vines and twigs glued on by sap do not make the best crown. Hair sticks to the drying sap and catches on the pointy sticks. Once I wore an enormously cumbersome— albeit beautiful—jeweled crown made with millions of tiny cobalt stones. Everything I make pales in comparison to the wonders that used to be within arm’s reach. Now, it’s oceans away.
Myself included. This pathetic excuse of a voodoo doll included. Blood drips from the tip of my finger. Hot, red, and wet, it splatters on the dry earth, quickly absorbed by the parched soil. Dull aching pain throbs, a reminder that I am no good with needles. Or tiny whittled sticks made to look like needles. They are too small and dainty. Exactly the feminine work my father wanted me well acquainted with.
But once again, I disappointed him.
I mean, I can stitch you something pretty, but I’ll ruin it with the stains from my repeatedly pricked bloody fingers.
Strong, sturdy, and clumsy hands: that’s what I have to work with here. These hands were made to wield swords, climb trees, and other things that used to make my father’s blood boil. Anything that made that cruel man glare, I'd do.
Would it please my father to know that they have come in quite handy, pun intended, here on this island?
“Ouch.” I hiss to no one in particular. The twig, sharpened to a mean point, stabs into my newly calloused fingers. It is truly meant to stick into the rough gnarled brown bark of my handmade doll, yet somehow it emerges from the leaves stretched over it and digs into my skin every time. With a shake, I ignore the pain and attempt to stick it in again.
Twigs, vines, nuts, and leaves don’t necessarily make the prettiest doll, but for the voodoo magic to work, you don’t need something beautiful. You just need a doll. Mine is barely that, but I’m hoping Goddess Nature finds it pleasing and my anger justified. Which, in my opinion, it is.
“I hope your dick falls off.” I pull the twig out and shove it right back into the doll again. Under the pressure, the small stick snaps between my sore fingers. “Dammit.”
Glaring hopelessly, I imagine the wine-colored hair that every fire fae has, but his is frizzy. I imagine he has brown beady eyes like swirling vortexes of shit. Likely squinting with all that judgment he had for me before he even met me.
I think I’m great. Other people think I’m great. So why does the opinion of one rotten king define me and spoil my future?
Shining and spectacularly bright, the beautiful tropical sun warms my now-tan skin. The sound of the waves crashing against the shore calms the anger that wells inside me every time I think about that piece of fire fae garbage.
Tell me, who wants an arranged marriage anyway? Especially to marry a cursed king? I sure as hell don’t. Well, I did. Kind of. But now, I totally do not.
Though if given the chance, I should thank him for my new, much freer surroundings. No rules to follow or prayers to kneel for at every odd hour. No restricting dresses. No more getting screamed at for sneaking away to practice sword fighting with the guards. No more arranged marriages or uniting of kingdoms.
Am I supposed to cry over banishment? Thanks to that king, it’s just me, the ocean, and the mermaids that like to play in the nearby canal that divides the island.
I’ll take whatever life gives me, and I’ll always make do. Even if that means crowning myself with syrup and forgotten tree limbs on an isolated island meant for murderers and thieves instead of a forgotten fae princess.
Slipping in the thick pebbly sand, I stumble forward into the cooling shade of a large, particularly healthy batch of trees. I drop the voodoo doll among the charcoal rocks before trying to climb over them. The rocks aren’t tall enough to require much actual climbing, but I do have to give a good hop or stretch of the leg to get from one to the other.
As the rocks grow thinner and the tall wild brush of the island grows closer, I hear the sound of my waiting prey. Clucks and chirps, scattering pecks and scraping talons turn the corners of my mouth up in a devilish grin. I part the tall grass before me.
Large chickens, plump from their feastings on the seeds and fruits I’ve gathered and tossed here daily, eat without care.
Perfect.
I eye those lazy trolls like the ignorant claim to trade they are. With a mad dash, the chickens scatter, my arms reaching out as I chase after them. The prick of the island under my bare feet doesn’t feel so foreign anymore. I hardly feel it. Hardly even care.
Crouching low, I scoop one flailing bird up. My hands hold its flapping wings tightly to its side. The chicken’s soft feathers poke out between my fingers. I only partly feel bad as I tie it up with forest vine while it calls out shrieking cries.
“You need better friends," I whisper to the bird. “They all left you behind.”
Weaving through dense thicket underfoot, I follow the sound of the babbling creek. Near the beach, it becomes nothing but a trickle, but closer to the center of the island, it opens into a large vein ten feet across. Perfect for bathing, getting a drink, or trading poultry for information or goods brought from my kingdom by the lovely merfolk who visit here. I use the term lovely loosely.
Assholes. They're total assholes.
I used to feel bad for the animals I sacrificed or prepared for dinner. Hunger has a way of making those pitying feelings vanish like puddles of water on a hot day. My sacrificial chicken serves the purpose of batting away small limbs and hanging vines. He doesn’t like it much but, hey, my hands are clearly full here.
Obscenely large but otherwise ordinary trees shade my walk from the beach. The shadows allow a trickling breeze to cool my skin, and I almost shiver.
Everything here is so . . . green. I fucking love it.
My home is just blue, blue, blue. Oh there is some teal, and a little bit of blue. Any green we see is, you guessed it, blue-green. Now, I like blue. It’s the color of the ocean and my hair. I happen to quite like my blue hair.
But green is just lovely and new. It’s refreshing, the color of living. It’s the color of my current home. Green is the color of thriving, magical, and glorious isolation. Like I’m on vacation.
For-fucking-ever.
Scorching gray stone burns underfoot before I toss the chicken into the water. The eerie long fingers that rise from the sea should alarm me but I'm used to Agatha now. I ignore the scaly hand of the mermaid who pushes the thrashing bird under the water, its squawking turning into choking bubbles. Under the perky peek-a-boo sun, I lie down and enjoy the feeling of its heat over every part of my body.
The ghostly remains of my once full skirt fan out, tattered, against the rock. At first, I attempted to wash the dress every day or so. Between the washing and the wear and tear of being on a deserted island, it was starting to wither away to nothing. So instead, I don’t worry if it smells like sweat. There is no one else here to smell it.
And it looks beachy now. More natural. Cute, even.
Or so I tell myself.
The heat of the sunlight warms my face as I lie on my back. Carefully, I reach for my knife that I left along the rocks yesterday. A piddly little thing, small and rusting. A parting gift from the guards before I left.
Twirling the small blade in my fingers, I close my eyes and let the sun bathe over me. With indifference, my fingers drift in the salty ocean water to my left. This feeling, I call apathy. Agatha calls it detachment, says it’s ‘bad for my soul’. I’ll let Goddess Nature decide for me one day.
I toy with the sea, using my magic to make the water drift higher into the sky so it shades over me in a lurking wave that won’t fall until I’m ready. It’s a meager little display of power. Nothing like the dark magic of witches or even other fae like me. Because father didn’t think magic was important for someone as imprudent as me. I got into enough trouble without it.
During my bitter thoughts, movement ripples through the waters and I drop my held magic, causing more sloshing movement.
Beads of water splash over my face, and I squint into the sun before the green-skinned mermaid pops her head into view. Her strands of mossy emerald hair act as a curtain around me, bringing the sharp angles of her face into view. Her black eyes blink at me, my reflection daunting and dirty in the shine of her gaze.
“Hello, Agatha,” I say, rolling my eyes. “You’re in my sun.”
“I see you have already got quite the tan.”
“Gotta look good for when company shows up.” I swat my hand at her.
“Ah yes, because of all those visitors you get. It’s a must to look good for them.” She teases in her smooth accent. Damp fingers slide through my hair. Agatha fans the long blue locks out over the rock as she combs at it. “Better work on these knots then.”
I wouldn’t consider Agatha nice. She is a mermaid, and mermaids are not kind creatures. When I first stumbled upon her as I bathed naked in her little watering hole, she tried to slit my throat with a jagged piece of coral. Forgive and forget though, right?
No, our friendship is a balancing act of trading secrets and otherwise unattainable goods. In a way, we’re similar she and I. She once told me she was an aging two-legged witch. She said centuries ago she was cursed to live the rest of her days as a woman of the sea.
But maybe that was just a lie to make me feel connected to her in my banishment.
“Agatha, can’t it be enough that I want to look good for you?” I wink playfully.
“By the Goddess Nature, do not dare bother to look nice on my account. Let yourself go. All natural.” After a moment of silence, she adds. “You’re getting faster at catching those fat round land birds.”
“We call them chickens.” Inwardly, I feel proud that this feat has gotten easier in the recent weeks. My first few attempts at catching them were comical at best.
I fell in a lot of chicken shit my first few days here. It wasn't pretty.
“Cheek-ens," Agatha says slowly in her heavy accent.
Ignoring her tug on my hair as she braids sections here and there, I cozy into the rock a little more. Her slick fingers curiously follow the curve of my ear up to the pointed tip before she goes back to her work. Between the wonderful feeling of her playing with my hair and the heat of the sun, I’m somewhere between dreamland and reality. My favorite place to be.
It’s nothing like what I had glimpsed in the Northern Kingdom. I barely stepped foot on its bedeviled soil before that stupid King Iri’s guards met me to point me right back to the boat that dropped me off here. All that comes to mind when I think of that kingdom is bitter, frigid, welling anger.
My jaw clenches as my brows lower hard.
“You’re thinking about him again?” Agatha says, tucking a cherry red water lily into my hair.
“Him who? I don’t know what you mean.”
Him the asshole who ditched me three days before I was to meet him, marry him, and unite our fae kingdoms to better the Union of the Fae? Nope, not a clue who she could be talking about.
“Do not let your thoughts dwell much. Care to know what is the most recent scandal?” Agatha tilts my head back till I can see the lift of her muscles under her skin, as if she is raising her nonexistent eyebrows.
Word under the sea travels much faster than word on land. Mermaids, they’re gossipy little things. Gossip Guppies, my friends used to say.
Back when I had friends, I mean.
“Don’t tell me a thing. I’m happy in my own little world here.”
“You liar," she whispers into my ear. “I know you hang on my every word every time I come here. Fae, you really are tricky things. Do you ever tell the truth?”
I chuckle as her words mirror my thoughts, then shrug my shoulders in response. Well, I don’t go through all the work of dragging a chicken through this thorny forest just so she can comb my hair. Spit it out, mermaid.
“King Iri has found himself betrothed again.”
That bastard.
“Wow, hope this one works out for him. Third one’s a charm. Hope he doesn’t let this one die like the one before me.” Poor little Princess Emella. I suppose my fate as a forgotten princess is better than hers.
I shove the dulling blade of my corroded knife into the soft dirt next to the rock with a little more force than necessary, imagining King Iri’s face as I do.
“You lie.” Agatha howls. “You wish he would rot on the bottom of the ocean until merfolk pick his bones clean.”
“Eh, I couldn’t care less what he does or doesn’t do.”
“If it makes you feel better, the new fiancé is half and half.” She says it like he is marrying a sweet creamer and not a high fae with a noble background.
I gasp, propping up on my elbows to get a good look at her. “No shit?”
“I do not lie like you, fae.” She blinks slowly, offended that I would question her. “She’s only half high fae blood, not royal at all, just high ranking. Her name’s Aisha, and she has wind magic.”
She isn’t a princess? And wind magic. What an absolutely terrible gift from Goddess Nature. She’s clearly not in the Goddess’s favor.
I smile, rolling to my stomach, and let my fingers dip down into the cool water. As I bring them up, the liquid clings to my hand in a typhoon of swirling droplets that soothes my mind as well as my magic.
“You’re still thinking about him.” She smirks.
Ugh, she’s right.
Cold black eyes appear in the water behind Agatha. I point wearily. Not many mermaids are fond of fae, so there isn't a need for me to chime in on their conversation. I wouldn’t want to get roped into fetching two chickens at a time. Talk about excessive work.
Water ripples around her in tiny waves as she turns to slither through the sea much like the snakes I’ve seen on the island. Both their dark green heads submerge, only for Agatha to appear once more seconds later.
“Boat,” she says hoarsely before diving under and disappearing.
Boat.
I’m not alone.
Fear and joy and memory of heartbreak tangle with my racing pulse. My heartbeat becomes a pounding drum as I leap up from the rocks and sprint to the beach. The forest slaps at my skin in unpleasant lashes that tug on my fraying dress until I break free of the timber and brush.
Butterflies sink in my stomach like a boulder falling into the ocean. Banked on the sand is a small empty boat. Behind it, floating in the water, a much larger ship looms.
The slashing insignia of the Northern Kingdom is burned into the smooth wood.
Someone is on the island.
For the first time in thirty days, I am not alone.
Two
When Strangers Meet
Syren
“Hello there, love.” The voice is deep and gravelly. Most of all, it’s startling.
As if in response to my adrenaline, the wind picks up, tossing my hair across my face and the skirts of my dress to the side. A man stands there—tall, with broad shoulders, and a shadow of a dark beard. His hair is long and brown, but as he turns in the sun, I can see red glinting in the stubble along his sharp jaw.
He's heart-poundingly attractive in that I Can Build You A Shack And You And All Your Crazy Chickens Can Live Happily Ever After sort of way.
He’s clearly fae. His skin is smooth and the tips of his ears show just slightly beneath his messy hair. He seems lower fae though. Not of high breeding with his plain clothes but possibly not a commoner either with his confident posture.
It’s hard to tell where he stands in his kingdom.
“Can I help you?” I lift my chin, no longer the banished princess with a crown of twigs on her forehead, but apparently the welcoming committee to this lost land.
His assessing gaze drags over my exposed stomach and the remains of the pale skirt and top that cling to my golden skin. The look blazes across my flesh, but I refuse to fidget beneath his attention.
“Are you Princess Syren?” Dark amber eyes sparkle like the tropical sun overhead. The stranger is built tall and strong, the wind shifting the thin material of his shirt along his hard chest. The black billowing top with three buttons left undone tuck into black pants. His clothes are made from fine materials.
I wonder what I look like to him. No dress was more festive than the one I had worn to meet the king, though now it looks like it would have better use as dish rag. The light purple bodice still cinches nicely at my chest, although half of the gems that lined the neckline are missing. The skirts once gave the illusion of hips much wider than what my natural body offers. The material droops now. Fraying fabric hits my knees, and trails longer behind me due to my frustration with it snagging on everything. It only took a couple days on this island before I ripped half the beautiful skirt away. I cried very frustrated tears that day.
After a month on the island, you’d think I’d have opted for something other than my ratty dress. But I can’t give up the few fine things I have left. Plus, how could I sew myself a pair of trousers without bleeding out from stabbing my fingers too much?
Speechless, I imagine that this stranger has come to either save me or drag me to the gallows. I take a casual step away from him. He stands with lazy assurance between me and the rest of my island.
“I’ve come to take you back to the Northern Kingdom. Your banishment has been lifted.” He sweeps his hands out at his side in a grand gesture with added smugness. “Congratulations. You get to be a princess again.”
Oh, how fucking kind of him. How kind of someone to remember I fucking exist out here alone.
“No, thank you,” I finally say, trying to breeze my way through the conversation with dash of pose.
His brilliant smile falters, then falls, his hands dropping helplessly to his sides next to a long sword that hangs on his hip. “No, thank you?”
Aw, he's cute when he's confused. I bet he's cute a lot.
I nod slightly before pointing to direct his attention behind him. “This is my home now, and I like it.”
“This place is . . . dirty and smells like fish.”
“When it rains, it gets this strange musty scent, too. It’s oddly refreshing.”
We stand there, trying to figure each other out. Calculating our next moves and the other person’s motives. His eyes narrow on me—the apparently suspicious woman who doesn't want to be a royal. His mouth drops with surprise, and he purses his lips. The tight set of his jaw loosens, and he opens his mouth as if to speak. So sad that I have to speak over his muddled thoughts.
“Well, best be on your way.” I wave at him before trotting across the hot sand and entering the thick grasses a yard away.
“You don’t understand. I’m not leaving without you," he says with a heavy rasp.
“That does put us in a pickle.” Slipping behind the nearest tree, I miss whatever sour look must be on his face when he disappears from my vision. I push through the forest. Sweat beads on my forehead and dampens the back of my dress, not from the heat, but because he said the words I’d imagined in my head so many times before. This was not how I imagined them, though.
It’s supposed to be said by a prince from a faraway land I’ve never heard of. Someone who had heard my story and is rightfully angered and wants to sweep me away to a better life.
Not some yes-man of the king who didn’t want me to begin with.
Fumbling footsteps follow behind me. It doesn’t take long before I put distance between us. His curses grow quieter. I slow, expecting to hear him stumbling behind me, but his footsteps have gone silent.
Looking around, I catch the faintest sound as he pushes off of a nearby tree and lunges at me. It's like a dance between us. A harsh, thrashing dance. He lunges again. Knowingly, I take a large step backwards, avoiding the vine that’s draped on the ground.
He stops just short of me, grabbing my shoulders for a split second before his feet are whisked out from under him. He dangles upside down, strung in the air before me. Small ragged pieces of what was left of my draping sleeve remain in his hand. His breath whooshes out of him in a large umph.
He swings back and forth, his messy hair hanging along his perfect jawline now. The navy-blue shirt covering his torso slides up, revealing rows of hard muscles. My eyes only linger there for a minute. Just a minute.
Or two.
I smile at his growing scowl. With a thunk, the large sword on his belt falls to the ground. He groans. The thin scrapes along his cheek heal in the blink of an eye.
Surface wounds are nothing for fae to heal from. What he and I are playing at isn’t life or death. But it is enough to piss him off.
“Rabbit trap.” I point it out, though it’s hardly necessary.
“Get me down.” He hisses, his perfect white teeth sticking out from under his curling lip.
“You didn’t ask very nicely.” Playfully, I kick at a small pebble until it bounces off a nearby tree and pings him lightly in his broody brow.
“Princess Syren, I swear to Goddess Celeste.”
“Uh-uh.” I wag my finger in his reddening face. “Choose your words wisely, my friend.”
But we are not friends, and it’s even more apparent as the man snarls. His ferocious growling only makes me laugh. Even if it’s only to cover my feelings of unease.
“I can’t believe King Iri sent you here to fetch me. Talk about mood swings. First, he wants me, then he doesn’t want me, now he wants me again. Goddess above.”
He stills, his brows scrunching as I continue to talk.
“Who are you anyway? Probably some random guard he picked out of a line-up. Poor dear. Doubtful he knew what sort of trouble you’d have coming to get me. I don’t take kindly to being rejected.”
“You are to be queen, and this is a foolish game you are playing right now.”
“It’s a foolish game your king is trying to play with me.” I jab my finger into his firm chest. “I’m sick of it. I’m sick of being someone else's pawn.” Lowering my face to his, I give him my best fake smile. “It’s my game now.”
He rolls his deep brown eyes at me. The action reminds me of every time my father rolled his eyes at something I said. Believe me to be an ignorant little girl, and it makes my anger go from simmering to a full-on boil.
“Get me down, please, Princess Syren," he says with false pleasantry.
My heart flutters stupidly. Yes, he's sexy when he begs, but I'm not that easily won over.
“I think I’ll just let you swing.”
“Oh, my goddess, you are just as difficult as I’ve been told.” He bends at the waist with a grunt until his hands are working the knot around his ankles.
“I’m not difficult. I’m headstrong, which isn’t a bad quality.” I shuffle forward, grabbing his sword and weighing it in my hands. It’s a lot longer than anything I’ve ever practiced with, and much heavier, too. Very high-quality metal.
He snorts at my comment. “Who told you that? Your mother? Headstrong women are reckless, not cute."
I try not to make a face. It wasn’t my mother who told me that, but one of the wet nurses who helped bring me up. That’s not any of his business. Plus, was she wrong? No, I don’t think so.
"I never said I was cute." I plant my palms firmly on my hips.
He pauses his groaning work on the knotted vine to peer down at me, his gaze lingering on the curves of my breasts that are nearly at eye level to him right now when he looks my way.
I shift, and he clears his throat before struggling awkwardly with his vine again.
With an umph, he lands with both feet on the ground. He appears unharmed, but he looks rather bothered as he dusts off his pants and shirt. He pats along his belt, forgetting he no longer wears his weapon.
“Give me that back.” One long finger points to the sword in my hand.
“I rather like it. I think I’ll keep it.” I wink.
“That’s a family heirloom. I’d rather you not tarnish my good name by losing it.”
“Wow, that was a really rude thing to say. I can’t believe you wouldn’t trust me—an outcast and dishonored princess.” I feign offence, one hand fluttering to my chest.
Both hands shove against his lean hips, his shirt still ruffled from his ride on the rabbit trap. I make a mental note to re-set the trap.
Clear and clever brown eyes scan the forest around us. Is he looking for more traps? Is he planning his next move? I’m curious to know what exactly he thinks of my new home. It’s a lot different than what I’ve heard of the Northern Kingdom. A lot fewer toilets, less working plumbing, and it has a lot more wildlife, too.
“You’ve taken care of yourself pretty well here?” It’s a question, kind of. Mostly it sounds like an observation as he gestures toward the vine hanging above him.
“Well, when your choices are learning how to hunt or starve to death, you find some motivation to adapt to your surroundings.” It took me many attempts to figure out how to tie the trap just right. Many more to figure out how to catch those damn chickens. I stick the blade of the sword into the dirt. He grimaces, so I lean into it, letting the blade dig in just a little deeper.
“Oh, come on, you’re royalty. ‘Banishment’ doesn’t mean the same thing for you. I’m sure your dad has dropped off a few care packages or brought along one of his fancy boats with all of your favorite people to visit.”
It was my turn to laugh. Tilting my head, I let out a loud, annoying cackle. “You clearly have never met my father.”
He would never go out of his way for me. Not the way he would my brother. My father and my brother both are probably thrilled I’m no longer causing trouble or making them furious every single day of their life.
“Tall man, oddly lavender eyes, indigo hair— much like yours, ridiculously charming, wants everyone to call him Caspian instead of King?”
"That’s the one.” He’s the most charming man in the four kingdoms. Unless you’re me.
“I’ll add that he often smells like sandalwood, like the coasts of your tropical kingdom.”
My jaw tightens, and I’m incredibly tired of hearing about my father and how well he deceives everyone around him.
“Hmm,” I hum, plucking the sword up from the earth. “You must be high up in the court to know those details. To think King Iri sent someone who might actually be someone to come get me instead of a nameless grunt.”
The mocking man bows low, his hair falling over his shoulders.
“What’s your name?” I ask.
“My friends call me Bear.”
“How rugged.” I look closely at his sword and the twisted metal of the handle lined with cardinal-red jewels. It is very pretty. A little plain, but pretty.
“Now, I’ll need that back.” His words barely reach my pointed ears before he is standing behind me, his strong grasp prying the blade from my hand.
Damn it. I’m out of practice.
Along my back, I feel the prickle of heat where his chest presses against me. It’s solid, unmoving. Bear’s breath fans against my neck, his mouth practically touching my ear.
My body halts, breath catching. It's been a long time since anyone's held me like this. Even if it is to steal a sword back.
“Now, princess, if you don’t mind, we’ll head back now," he rasps against the shell of my ear.
I spin, leaning away from his overwhelming warmth. “I told you, I’m not leaving!”
Gritting his teeth, he picks up his belt, buckling it back on his lean hips before he sheathes his sword. Bear keeps his hand clasped to the hilt, knuckles white from his grip.
“Look, you’ve been forgiven,” he says with a heavy sigh like it pains him to even say those three little words.
Goddess, this man can’t take a hint.
“Good for you.”
“Good for me? I’ve come here granting you freedom, giving you your title back, and presenting you with the title of queen. That’s all you have to say? This island is a hellhole. Most women would beg to be in your position.”
“Then maybe he should pick one of those begging women. Eh?” I nudge him with my elbow. “That’s a kind offer, but I’ll pass. I have a lot of Ocean Breeze Marmalades that I’ve made, and they're not going to drink themselves. It’s was ni—, um, no, that's a lie. Thanks for coming out though.”
Narrowing his gaze, Bear watches me. He’s either balancing the odds in his head, making a plan of action, or deciding that leaving his only real option. I fold my arms over my chest, unwavering under his scrutiny. It will take more than a handsome man giving me cranky eye to change my mind.
If he wants to have a staring contest, fuck it, I’ll clear my ridiculously busy schedule and square off. Unfortunately, it doesn’t come to that. After a couple minutes of uncomfortable silence, he walks toward me, ducking down quickly as if he plans to throw me over his shoulder like a bag of grain. With both hands, I push his face down to the ground. I step around him as he stumbles away.
Triumph soars through me. It's been so long since I fought with anyone. It's exhilarating. Addicting.
A low rumble of exasperation escapes him as he charges back at me. Again, I’m waiting. In a long upward arc, I thrust my open palm into his perfect nose. Blood pours down over his mouth, staining the stubble on his face.
“You little bitch.” Yelling, he snaps his nose so roughly back into place that even I'm impressed. “Enough is enough. I was trying not to hurt you.”
This time, the dangerous look in his eye is enough to strike fear into me. Something about him becomes predator-like, and I’m the fucking prey.
Yay me.
This would be a lot funnier if all of this was strictly innuendo or bedroom play, and not an actual race away from my own doomed fate.
That King and his fucking kingdom. I don't want it. Who would? Who would want someone who rejected them without even bothering to meet them?
And I’m not waiting around to find out exactly why this guy’s friends call him Bear. No, I dart through the dense forest, unsure what my next move will be. Vines snap at my flesh but I don’t feel the stinging pain.
This island is too small to hide.
Well, this is shit.
Then inspiration hits me.
Momentum carries me as I abruptly turn left. I’m familiar with the terrain. He's not. His unsure footsteps flounder continuously. That is, until I make the small jump over the shallow hole—and he does not.
The noise he makes as he slips, falling on his ass, can only be described as the most entertaining and mortifying noise someone could possibly make. It’s like he learned to yodel all of a sudden.
And not well.
“For fuck’s sake, is this feces?” Bear pushes himself upright. Brown clinging to his arms and legs as he examines what exactly he fell into.
“I’ve acclimated and endured rather well.” I give him an exasperated look. “You think I’m so uncivilized out here that I didn’t make myself a latrine?”
“You mean to tell me this is your shit?” Bear’s eyes grow wide, his jaw ticking.
“I asked you to leave. You’re the one chasing me around like a murderous psychopath.”
Blotches of red seep over his face, his neck, and the small bit of exposed skin on his chest. The only next possible thing would be for steam to pour out of his ears. His fists are visibly shaking.
I gulp. My mouth goes dry. If looks could kill, this would be his deadly blow, and I would be dead five times over.
Standing above the hole, Bear thrusts both palms down against his pant legs, sending dark specks splattering to the green forest floor.
“I’m done playing your little games, water witch.”
Internally, I cringe at the sound of the slur. Outwardly, though, I turn to saunter off. Smug pleasure rolls off of me as I confidently take a step away. He is done. He has officially decided that I am more work than I am worth.
And I am. King Iri decided that right from the start.
My leg lifts for one more step, but my movement comes to a halt. Behind me, the only bit of my dress that still trails the ground is tacked into the dirt by his long sword. Eager to disappear amongst the trees, I tug on the dress.
The sound of it tearing, but not completely breaking free makes the way Bear is slowly coming toward me much more terrifying.
“I would tell you I’m sorry for what I’m about to do. But honestly, I’m not.” His massive hand comes down on my shoulders, expertly finding the exact pressure points that make my knees weak. And not in the good way.
I open my mouth to speak, only to find the words lodged in my throat as my beautiful green forest turns to ashy gray. Then everything is black.
I hate the color black. Black is for funerals.
And death.
Three
A Pain in the … Back
Bear
All the things I’ve been told about the Princess of the Southern Kingdom is true. She’s a pain in the ass.
And my back.
I flop her down on my mattress and I both want to glare and gaze at her soft features. All pretty things come at a price.
Smooth features and angled lines make up her heart shaped face. Long sapphire hair fans across my pillow with too many dirty thoughts filling my mind.
I shove those thoughts far into the back of my mind. She’s as beautiful as she is infuriating. And this trip is going to feel even longer because of her.
“She’ll help you,” a voice says from behind me but I still stare down on her spread across my mattress.
“If you try, she’ll help you,” my friend says reassuringly again.
He’s always of sound mind but I don’t know if he’s right this time.
The beautiful woman lying before me might be exactly as her father says she is:
Not worth the trouble.
Four
The Enchantress
Syren
The first thing that hits me is the overwhelming scent of citrus of some sort. Fruit that doesn’t grow on the island. My island. Next, it is a headache. Each heartbeat pulses with a terrible pain that travels down my neck.
My own sluggish fingers come up to cup my face. No injury, no blood, everything is perfect. Except my pride. The thin branches of my twisted, handmade crown still rest atop my head.
Blinking, I take in my new surroundings as the memories flood back over me. Bear. Bear came to my island. Where is he now?
The black of my closed eyelids gives way to the sight of a small musty cabin room. Swirls of wood grain cover almost every surface: the walls, the floor, the desk, and the door. A thin wooden chair sits adjacent the desk as if someone had sat there to watch me. I shudder at the thought.
Waves rock the boat slowly enough I feel tempted to take another little snooze. Storming footsteps on the deck above me make dread drop like heavy lead in my stomach.
Beneath me, the blankets still contain my body heat. I press longingly back into them. I notice how worn I look compared to the covers. The blankets look brand new while my dress is tattered and dirty.
Rubbing my aching eyes, I sit up, listening for signs of other passengers. Nothing but the sloshing water outside my small window and the stomp of the boots above me indicates other crew members. When I take a deep breath, the tangy scent sends my stomach growling in angry hunger.
Bright pink waterapple slices sit on the desk, freshly cut. I haven’t had a waterapple in weeks, and I hate how tempting it looks. The scene makes me think this chair hasn’t been empty for very long. Curious and eager to appease the continuous rumbling in my stomach, I set my bare feet on the smooth floorboards.
It has been so long since my feet met something that wasn’t weathered by nature. Wiggling my toes, I grin. The smile quickly dies down at the looming thought of what this journey from the island ultimately means.
I am to marry King Iri.
My whole body feels tight from the anticipation of what is to come. Bear will bring me to the castle to be made presentable first, then I will meet the great Fire Fae King. The Cursed King. He’ll make arrangements for our wedding. My dad will likely come. That’ll be fantastic. Then . . . the wedding night, and the things one must do.
Sex. Don’t get me wrong, sex is great. Fantastic if you have an experienced partner, honestly. But the part that plagues me is that the first time you consummate your marriage, you have all that unwanted company. I don’t like my father on any good day. Why would I want him to sit in while I have sex with my husband?
He and any high member of society is allowed to sit behind these thin mesh curtains and watch. It’s like we are prized horses that they need to breed properly.
Oh, my goddess. What are the chances Bear will be in that room?
Why did I just think that?
Heat rushes to my face at the thought. The man is a stubborn lackey. Will he enjoy watching the King touch and taste every intimate part of me?
Or, or . . . I can escape before it gets that far. Ride an ocean wave right back to my island or wherever else I want to go. I’ve heard the Eastern Kingdom is beautiful in the summer. Warm and tropical.
Trying to shake off the many unwanted thoughts bombarding my mind, I reach for the waterapple. Plucking one perfectly peeled quarter off the desk, I toss the small pink fruit into my watering mouth. Juices somehow both sweet and sour explode like fireworks against my tongue.
My stomach howls again, begging for more. I snatch the remaining pieces from the desk, shoving them into my mouth, not even slightly remorseful that it was probably meant as a snack for someone else.
The mysterious fruit, delectable as it is, doesn’t satisfy this ravenous hunger. I suppose being knocked unconscious for who knows how long does that to a person. On quiet feet, I creep to the door, listening carefully before reaching for the polished knob. Again, the only noise I hear is the random stomping of boots on the level above me.
Surprise arches my eyebrows. The door opens easily. No locks or tricks or any other barriers to keep me trapped. Bear is going to let me wander this boat freely? How kind of him.
How stupid of him.
Outside of the room is a long, empty, and narrow hallway. My choice of exits includes the room directly across from me, probably another sleeping chamber, or the dimly lit stairs, likely leading to the deck.
Neither of them seem too great. But if I can get on the deck, I can figure out how far away from land we are. I can lift any trinkets aboard to pay for my escape. I could swim away without so much as a goodbye to my captors.
What could I do in the other room? Search through Bear’s luggage for old underwear? No thank you.
With careful steps, I trudge up the stairway to the square door above my head. Light peeks down through a single hole in the small door that separates me from the free ocean air. I inhale deeply. The salty scent mixes with that of Bear.
Somewhere between bourbon and coffee, that is what Bear smells like. A caffeine that gets you drunk.
I don’t like it.
Past his scent, I catch the hint of something else. Someone else. Honestly, with a boat this size, I expect more of a crew. Yet it may just be me, Bear, and mystery person number one.
I press into the door above my head, but the hard wood panel doesn't move. It’s locked. Pain radiates mildly though my palms and shoulder as I try to break through it once more. I shove and push and think of ways my water magic might aid me, but nothing short of flooding the ship comes to mind.
Amid my flailing against the door, it gives away, sending me jarring forward and washing hot sunlight across my tired, squinting eyes.
I feel like a wild animal sticking its head out a hole, with just my head and shoulders protruding above the deck. Big black boots sit eye level with me. They are clean with little scuffs. My attention drifts up the long slender legs to the black shorts that eventually lead up to the narrow waist and broad shoulders of mystery person number one. I frown. Brilliant red hair sticks out in uneven tufts. One long braid hangs down to the man’s shoulders, strung with black-and-grey beads that mirror the color of ash. The red scruff on his chin is scraggly and as unkempt as the hair on his head.
“Goddess. You’re beautiful.” The stranger cocks his head. “Though not as beautiful as your people would have us believe. They say you’re some kind of enchantress sea witch.”
Well, isn’t he charming. Why didn’t King Iri send this fine gentleman to escort me?
“Stop it. She’s covered in dirt, mud, and other fluids I’m sure.” Bear’s annoyed huff reaches me, but I don’t see him. Not past his friend who hovers.
“Who are you? Fire fae?” I roll my eyes, tossing out his powers like it’s an insult. The fire fae are temperamental little shits. Hot-blooded, some say.
“I just complimented you, and you’re going to talk to me like that?” He balances his hands on his hips with an amused chuckle. “Name’s Miranda.”
If he is referring to the fact that I’m ‘not as beautiful as your people would have us believe,’ then that was hardly a compliment.
“Isn’t Miranda a girl’s name?”
Bear groans from a distance. “Don’t get him started.”
“Miss Syren Stormson. I thought you were supposed to be the evolved princess of the Southern Kingdom. Your people boast about you, cheer for you, and mourn and riot for you in your banishment, yet in this day and age, you can’t comprehend a man having the name Miranda?” His mouth drops in false shock. “It’s wholly unbelievable.”
They rioted in my banishment?
With a scowl, I stomp up the next few steps emerging from the musty lower deck. Sun illuminates the bits of metal that hold the ropes of the long sails and fishing hooks neatly hung along the sides of the railings.
Bear leans over the tall wooden edge, watching the waves slap against the large boat. He doesn’t give me the slightest glance. I watch him for a long second, not too ashamed to examine the muscles tensed along his bare back.
Goddess Karma did bless him. Gave him a shit personality to balance his favors, sure but . . . he’s painfully beautiful. Even with the thin lines of scars crossing his broad shoulders and back.
“So glad you could finally join us,” Bear says flatly.
“Now, now, Bear. Look, she isn’t half bad. I think under that . . . garment. Can we even call that a garment when it’s in such poor condition? Oh, never mind.” He swats his hand, dismissing his thoughts. “Under all that, she likely has a decent body.”
Unconsciously my hands wrap around the two inches of exposed skin between my tattered shirt and my more tattered skirt at the thoughts of these men imagining what I look like under these rags.
“Plus,” Miranda holds up a finger, “her people love her. Goddess knows we need the people to love our queen in the Northern Kingdom.” He sings the last line like a jolly ballad.
“I know, I know,” Bear mutters.
He seems so enthused.
“If you don’t want me to be your queen, Bear, why would you drag me away from my island? I didn’t want to come anyway.” I cross my arms over my chest, until I realize that the neckline of my bodice is quite low, and I instead I place my hands more confidently on my hips.
“I didn’t have much of a choice. The people want what the people want,” Bear says, as if that’s answer enough. He gives me a less than pleasant look.
“Since when does your king care what the people want instead of what he wants?” My words are sharp and pointed, my only weapon.
Miranda gasps. “Princess Syren.”
Bear shakes his head. “Let her think whatever she wants to think about our king.”
The bitter way he says it makes me wonder if he hates Iri as much as I do. Maybe that’s one thing we have in common. The only thing.
Miranda snorts, turning to make work of pulling ropes and strings and other things that I don’t care to know about. I love the sea. I love the water. Boats, those are irrelevant to me. Miranda hums a little tune as he goes. He really is a likable guy, even if he does appear a little rough around the Viking edges.
Tangles of my blue hair fall over my shoulder. Slowly, I pace around the large deck. The helm that is usually managed by the captain is unmanned. It turns only an inch or two each direction as the sea slaps at the ship. A long piece of twine ties the wheel in place, keeping it from drifting too sharply. A course has already been set.
Looking over the rocking waves, I see no land. When I peer around the massive deck, my gaze lands on shining rubies. Bear’s sword on a small wooden bench.
I don’t have a plan. Because, do I ever? I try to look casual, stepping around large piles of rope and a few barrels of sloshing liquid. Wine? I could use some wine. I could really use some confidence. Wine and confidence go hand in hand, don’t they?
“So how long is this trip to your awful kingdom?” I make small talk, directing them somewhere else.
“Two days by sea. One by land.” Miranda answers for Bear when he doesn’t reply.
“That’s a long time to be stuck on this boat with you two.”
“If you two tried harder, I bet Bear could think of something to pass the time with you.” Miranda’s chuckling is cut short when Bear’s hard features curl into a scowl. “Maybe we can play some cards to pass the time?” Miranda offers with more seriousness. “I have two decks in the crew’s quarters.”
“Crew’s quarters? Are there more people aboard?” I run my finger over the smooth edge of the boat, pretending to examine it for dust. It isn’t dusty. It’s pure perfection.
“Just me and Bear. I get the whole room down there to myself. Bloody grand, if you ask me.” Miranda looks up at me cheerfully, his toothy grin showing off two shining golden caps.
“Miranda, quit giving her information. Don’t you see what she’s trying to do?” Bear drops his head into his large hands, rubbing his fingers over his temples.
“Excuse me for wanting to know how many players we have for the card game we are going to play. Wouldn’t want to leave anyone out in a hand of Hobs Knobs” I direct myself toward Miranda’s smirking face. “Is he always this grumpy?”
“Most days.” Miranda shrugs. “But get him drinking and he lets loose. If you can get him drinking, that is.”
Drinking? I make note of Bear’s lightweight status. Miranda is a helpful friend.
I lean over the edge, reaching my palms out. Small hurricanes of water rise up to lap against my palms. It calms my racing heart. There is nothing like the sensation of water kissing your skin. Water is my true home.
Miranda watches me with curiosity. “Nice parlor trick.”
“I could drown you with this handful of water,” I say in a bored tone.
That is… if my magic cooperated enough for me to get ahold of the restless magic within me…
“I’d like to see you try.” Bear laughs. “He’s a good fighter.”
“You’d have to be with such a girly name.”
Miranda frowns. It makes me almost feel bad for my comment. How many times has someone told him he shouldn’t be named that? It’s not like he picked his own name.
Changing the subject, I point to Miranda’s wild outfit. The necklaces hanging over his baggy shirt that is tucked in his far-too-short shorts. “You look like a pirate.”
“You know,” he says, glancing up to the sky. “I feel like a pirate.”
“Is this what you always wear?”
Miranda laughs, walking away from the pulleys and other gadgets to a map splayed over a long table. “Do you think they allow this type of garb in the fae courts?”
“No, I suppose not.” I shrug, inching closer to the balanced weapon. “As queen, I would let you wear what you want to wear.”
“Oh, I see why your people like you. You please them.” He bows low.
Bear seems content to pick at his nails and listen to the sea.
I take one long step, and I grab the sword. The metal is warm from the sun. I take the blade and point it at Miranda’s back.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” Bear’s whisper is a dark and heavy threat in my ear. His arms are strong and hot as he reaches around me and lowers my hand. Okay. So Bear’s fast.
Goosebumps tremble over my skin. I’ve missed the caress of a man’s touch for too long. I remember the short relationship I had with Aaven before he found out I was betrothed to the most feared King in all the lands. Aaven was sweet. Aaven . . . was a fucking coward to let me go without so much as a goodbye.
Bear isn’t Aaven. Not at all. I hate how sensitive I am to every small touch Bear gives me.
I let the blade clatter to the ground, twisting around quickly. Bear’s smooth chest is eye level to me, but I refuse to let my gaze drift down his muscular build. “I do not wish to be your queen.”
“I do not wish for you to be my queen.” He leans down closer to me, his cruel mouth half an inch from mine, the heat of his words skimming my lips. “You can quit saying it now. I’m well aware. I agree.”
“I can’t believe you two are pouting,” Miranda says, his finger still lingering on the map. “I’m the one who just got a sword pointed at me. Show some condolences, for goddess’s sake.”
“Sorry,” I mutter.
“You’re not sorry.” He glances at me without annoyance. “And to think, I liked you.”
Bear’s whiskey color eyes stare down at me. I shift under his scrutiny. “I have one job here. It is to bring you back to my kingdom to be wed. Let’s not make this harder than it has to be.”
“You clearly don’t know much about me, then.” I shove both arms against him. I push him harshly away before sprinting over the creaking boards and tossing myself into the vibrant, living ocean.
Briny water covers me, the dormant strength of the water surrounding me in its warm embrace.
And I revel in its recklessness.
Five
Fire and Water
Syren
My throat and lungs burn for air when I return to the surface. Sucking in as much oxygen as I can get, I examine the distance between me and the ship. Fabric floats around me, while other bits that cling to my legs threaten to drag me under.
I could swim for days. All it would take is for me to dive back under these waves and let myself drown. It goes by faster if I take in the painful breaths of the grainy water. After that, it’s smooth sailing once the soft gills that hide under my blue hair, just below my jawbone and under my ears, start to work.
The question is, which way do I go? Closing my eyes, I try to let the sea tell me. The water has a lot of secrets. Most, it will tell me if I listen.
“Have you gone mad?” Bear practically screeches over the distance between us. His voice bounces off of the tall waves.
“Should I throw her the buoy?” Miranda asks, chewing on his thumb nail.
“No.” Bear barks at him. “She’s a water fae. She will be fine. They’re good at swimming. Stupid decision makers, but good at not drowning, so that’s something.” He turns his anger toward me once again. “Get back on this fucking ship right now.” Rage, concern, and outright fear flash quickly over his dark features.
Is my sweet Bear worried for me? Scared the sea urchins might claim me for themselves? Crown me queen of the underwaters and treat me wildly better than his king ever will?
I almost do as I'm told, if only to keep away the eerie feeling that I, too, should be scared. I’m not familiar with these waters, and true mermaids, those not like Agatha, they’re wicked. But Bear isn’t frightened for me, not really. He is frightened for himself.
“Shh. You are ruining my concentration,” I say instead.
It starts as if it’s many voices. A loud chatter inside my head. The sea’s secrets.
Which direction is land?
I ask it again and again. Voices grow louder and louder. Noise piled on top of more chaotic noise. Until one word stands out in an unmistakable chant.
Danger. Danger. Danger.
I blink, glancing around me. Calm blue surges of water rise up to small points before fading back into the sea in small waves. Nothing looks out of the ordinary.
“Syren. Get your ass back to this ship. NOW!”
Bear’s warning is drowned out as water rushes over my face. Slick and sticky arms slide around my waist, dragging me under. I let out a startled scream, bubbles rising to the surface as I will the water to push me back up.
Another arm ties itself to my leg. Breaking the surface, my arms slap against the water as if I haven’t a clue how to swim. I try to compose myself. Try to remember how my limbs work.
Five long gray tentacles reach above the surface. Purple mouths like circles line them, and sharp teeth gnash inside each of the mouths. Daunting and most certainly dangerous. Above the vast expanse of ocean, the tentacles resemble a cage. A trap made for me.
“Shit.” Bear curses before the loud stomp of his boots against the deck ring out among the sloshing water. With blurry eyes, I try to watch him. Sword still in hand, he takes a running leap over the side of the boat. I expect him to splash into the water. Fire so hot and brilliant scorches the air as two large wings expand from his back.
This doesn’t make sense. Fire fae can bend flames to follow their will, and at most they can summon fire to shoot from their palms. They cannot sprout wings of fire from their backs.
The absurdity of it is all I can see before I’m pulled under, this time with my eyes open and ready. Two glowing red orbs stare back at me. Fangs as long as my forearm jut out of the large creature’s mouth.
With both hands, I send a current of water at the animal, trying to push away as I wiggle in its slimy hold. It falters but doesn’t release me. Water has many strengths, but my power—without exercise and without the training I should have received growing up—are not much use against the monster.
Another tentacle wraps around me, squeezing me so tightly I feel my bones popping in protest. My eyelids droop as my head spins in a terrifying way. What little oxygen I’ve been holding, I release. Then I take a large breath of water.
It never feels any better than the last terrible time. Every time it hurts. But I know when it’s over I’ll breathe just fine. So I suck in deeply and blow out small bubbles, until it’s just the water that’s keeping me alive.
Metal glimmers, sinking lower into the ocean. The sharp reflection of the fire light above the surface catches my attention. I extend my arm out in front of me, letting the water carry it into my grasp.
Bear’s sword, still awkward and long, becomes my real fighting chance as I skillfully slice through the current and slash over and over into the large arm that holds me. A shrill screech vibrates through me, but I don’t let it slow me down.
One tentacle releases me, even though the crushing weight of anxious adrenaline still courses through me.
I stab into the last meaty arm that’s wrapped around my leg. Sticky strings of red blood cling to the sword as I kick out of the monster’s hold. Bursting through the surface of the water, the air hits me, and I gasp for the ocean just like I gasped for oxygen before.
Holding my arms above my head, I dunk back under. Blistering heat meets my fingertips, then smooth and sure hands clasp onto my wrists, dragging me away from the row of violent tentacles reaching out to swallow me whole.
No one’s arms ever felt so safe as these do in this very moment. Perhaps it’s the fact that most of my life wasn’t lived in terrifying peril. Bear pulls me up, and I immediately climb his big body and cling to his chest, careful to wrap my arms around his warm neck and not touch the blazing wings on his back.
Those wings are magnificent. Burning and beautiful.
I’ve heard many things about fire fae, most of which are not very good, but I’ve never heard of any of them flying. Water drips off my fingers over his shoulders and turns to mist with a small hiss as it reaches the lines of flames protruding from his back.
The thin gills on my neck open and close quickly as if they don’t understand the water is so, so far down now. They work hard while the world begins to spin around us. So I focus on how tightly he holds me. How utterly sure I am that he won’t let me fall. Even if it’s only to complete this one task given to him by King Iri.
“Syren, are you hurt?” His voice pitches up an octave as he lands flawlessly back onboard the ship.
He lowers me down his hard chest, but the moment my feet touch, my knees give out and scrape against the deck as water sputters from my lungs. The surging heat of Bear’s power disappears, and he kneels next to me without his alluring wings. Fingers dig into my shoulders as he rolls me into his lap, tilting my face up to him. His gaze searches my face in a way that makes my heart louder in my ears.
He looks quickly away.
"You have wings. Fire wings. You could have just blazed down my island and taken me kicking and screaming.”
Why did he even give me a fighting chance to begin with?
“Destroying islands isn’t normally something I do, sorry.” He huffs that statement out and turns swiftly away. “Miranda, get us out of here before that thing rips the boat to shreds and I’m forced to carry the two of you.” He bellows the command before looking down at me carefully.
“Do you have a death wish, stupid girl?”
And reality settles back in. My idiot heart sinking back into the shadows.
“Sorry if I’m not eager to return to a king who didn’t want me in the first place.”
Bear takes in a long, slow breath before speaking again. “Even kings make mistakes. You were banished to that specific island because if you tried to swim away from it, one of the many creatures between here and any other piece of land would kill you before you could make it. You can’t just jump ship here.”
I shrug and try to smile, overly aware of the position we now sit in and the steady way he holds my head between his hands. “You don’t think that was the tiniest bit of fun?”
His eyes become two small slits glaring down at me.
“No. I did not have fun.” Each word is a cutting dagger from his pursed lips.
“Pity. I sure did. You could take me for another ride with those wings of yours.” I mean for the words to come out playful but my throat still burns, and the suggestion sounds raspy and dirty in a way.
Damp fingers slide from my hairline, gently stroking along the blue gills that lie smooth and unmoving beneath my ears. My hands reach up protectively, brushing over his warm fingers.
“It seems we both have some magic that is greater than just some measly parlor tricks,” he whispers.
Intense, penetrating eyes flick back to mine. My breath hitches in my chest from the fervor of his stare, my core tightening.
And my stupid, stupid heart shuffles back out of the shadows.
Nope. No. Wait an asshole fae minute.
Abruptly, I cough and sit up, away from him.
The sails above are swollen with wind as Miranda steers us quickly away. Fresh air clears my mind as it fills my lungs.
Bear stands, stepping away from me to gather a bundle of rope.
“What are you doing?” I ask as he reaches his arm out, offering his hand. But his grip is hard when he pulls me to my feet.
“Tying you up. Clearly you’re a hazard to yourself.”
Well, shit.
Six
The Fairytale
Syren
Bitter cold air licks my exposed legs. Raw skin from the rubbing of the rope against my wrists and ankles burns as though it has been touched by fire fae magic. Perhaps it has.
No one needs to tell me that my bindings are spellbound. Or that they hold tiny pieces of iron to keep me from bursting out of the normally flimsy ropes. No, I figured that out on my own.
Bear and Miranda work quietly and efficiently in front of me. Together they man the ship, taking me farther and farther away from my beloved island. With each inch we sail closer to the Northern Kingdom, the icier the air feels.
I shiver, fighting the urge to let my teeth chatter. The Northern Kingdom is frigid, much like the fire fae’s icy black hearts. Though I’ve never known it to be this cold. Maybe my mind is foggy.
As a child, I found visiting their kingdom to be an excitement. I remember the rolling hills covered in a thin dusting of snow. Lights hung from crystal buildings, glimmering like the sun. Even when it wasn’t snowing, the kingdom had a way of feeling like it was always moving. Shifting magic made it appear as if glowing diamonds and white gems were falling from the clear sky.
It was breathtaking.
My father would have one of his guards take me to have a taste of every different hot beverage their finest shops had to offer. I remember the steaming cups of maple sin tea, spiced rum punch, and hot chocolate fluff. Often, if I think hard enough, I can taste them again.
Though as I got older, something changed. Fire fae and water-blessed fae found their differences just too . . . different. Kingdoms grew apart. Fae who were once friends found themselves enemies. And the four kingdoms found themselves at war.
When I was twenty, an infamous witch proclaimed that the goddess had shared a prophecy with her. The only way to unite the kingdoms again was for a fire fae and a water fae to marry. Time and time again, our people tried to set aside whatever bicker was between us. However, every time, something ruined the marriage before it was actually completed.
Someone would get sick and pass, an assassin would break through the castle walls and murder one of the lovers-to-be, or the most recent fiasco: King Iri’s fiancé ran away. Straight up disappeared. Suspicious? Yes, I think so.
Three possible marriages, and Iri fucks them all up. Either he really is cursed, or he’s a damn idiot.
Visions of blooming reds, purples, and oranges span across the vast horizon. Small white clouds dot the skyline, making me wish it was a fabric I could turn into a fabulous gown.
I’d do anything to get out of this sopping wet excuse for a dress. To find some warmth, I curl into myself as much as my bindings will let me.
“It’s freezing. How much longer do we have?”
“Well, if you hadn’t flung yourself into the ocean, you might not be so cold right now,” Bear growls, walking closer with a small bag.
With a grunt he lowers himself next to me and opens up the parcel. Dried meat, cheese, and bread roll out.
His dark eyebrows lower as he gives me a pointed look. “If I undo your hands so you can eat, will you try to drown me? Or do something equally ignorant?”
I chew my lip, acting as if I’m deep in thought. “Maybe.”
“I’m not feeding you. I’m not your servant. If you can’t agree, then you won’t eat. It’s still a long way to the Northern Kingdom.”
“I don’t know. The image of you doting on me is quite nice.” I look down at the shirt that covers his very defined chest. “I might even ask you to take your shirt off like a real goddess fantasy.”
“Syren.” His tone is stern against my name. Growly. Breathy. I like it.
Too much.
“Fine, fine. I won’t drown you or do anything else. Blah, Blah, Blah.” I hold my bound hands up. “Now take off the rope. I’m hungry.” My stomach rumbles loudly as if on cue.
In his hand is a small blade he must have pulled from his pocket when I was unashamedly admiring his physique. It sparks golden embers along the magical ropes as he slices through the bindings on my wrists. I frown when he puts it away, leaving the rope on my ankles still intact.
“Just so we are clear, I am nobody's servant. Especially to someone like you.”
Someone like me? He doesn’t even know me.
A burn of fury rises in my chest, but I mask it with taunting words.
“Really, Bear? It looks to me like your running errands for King Iri.” I pluck a roll from his lap, only slightly aware of my fingers skimming his thigh. Trying to appear as delicate and ladylike as possible while eating in front of this damn Neanderthal, I pull a small piece off the roll and toss it casually into my mouth. “Sounds to me like you’re his little bitch,” I add, just to really piss him off.
Bear’s face turns a light shade of pink.
My cheek brushes his course beard as I lean closer to him, making sure it’s just a whisper shared between us. “If you were in my court with this holier-than-thou attitude, I would make you get on your knees, and use that mouth for better entertainment than simply insulting me.”
The pink on his cheeks quickly deepened to a cherry red, his mouth dropping open as his eyes fall to my lap, and then back up to my face. Satisfied with the reaction, I chew the bread with a smile.
I would never force a servant to perform sexual acts on me. I’m not that kind of Princess. Yet, somehow the idea of, pun still intended, ‘poking the bear’ is too thrilling to resist. I’m much too impulsive for my own good sometimes.
“You do not speak like a Princess. Or an engaged Princess, for that matter.” Bear rolls his eyes before bringing his hands up and pulling his dark hair into a low ponytail.
“Well, you see, that’s because I’m not. I was stripped of my title and rejected all at once. I’m—I’m a free woman, actually.”
As I say that, we both glance down at the prisoner-style rope binding my feet together.
Free-ish. I’m a free-ish woman.
Miranda bounds up the steps to the upper deck we’re perched on. Lowering himself and crossing his legs, he opens up his bag of food. “Ah, this feels like a picnic. Romantic, am I right?”
Bear and I exchange a narrowed glance. I don’t think either of us think it feels very picnicky or romancey. I still feel very prisoner like. And cold. I’m very cold.
“So, Syren, how do you feel about marrying King Iri?” Miranda sits holding a small piece of cheese, waiting for my answer.
“Oh, I’m sorry. I thought you understood by the way that I’ve fought against everything to not be in this exact position that I do not want nor do I intend to marry that man.” I point a finger at Bear. “Did you understand that?”
Bear grunts.
“I’ll take that as a yes.”
“He’s called the Crimson King. The goddess of fire has blessed him more than any other.” Miranda points out.
“They also call him the Cursed King,” I argue.
“Ladies say he’s handsome.” Miranda smirks at me. He likes going back and forth with me, I can tell.
I like it, too.
“I saw a portrait of him once. I’m not saying he isn’t handsome. I’m just saying I can go down to the Seven Elven Market in the village and meet ten fae just like him.”
Bear coughs on the meat he is chewing, smacking his chest hard with one hand. “Excuse me?”
“Oh, come one. You lot make him out to be ssooo amazing. I doubt he is anything other than a run-of-the-mill redheaded fire fae man whose lavish life has made him spoiled and is lazy in bed.”
Miranda leans back and cackles with laughter. “This girl is a hoot. A keeper. The king is a lucky man.”
“She told you, you have a girl’s name,” Bear says.
“That’s before I opened her eyes to the reality that names have no gender.” Miranda purses his lips. “I’ve forgiven her, and I’m giving her a second chance.”
“You’re so kind,” Bear whispers.
“I am. You’re right.” Like a proper pirate, Miranda has eyeliner smudged around his eyes. Carefully, he runs his fingers along it to clean it up. Or smear it more.
A gust of wind carries over the ship, rattling the sails and sending the orange-and-yellow flag whipping through the air. An hour passes and shining white stars dot the skies. They emerge one by one in the quickly dimming heavens.
Stretching out my arm, I point to one of the chunks of cheese. “May I?”
Bear looks away. I follow his gaze to Miranda, who plays ignorant and stares down at his lap.
“Please.” Bear waves his hand before him. “What’s mine is yours.”
“Oh, good. Because I was going to take it anyway.”
It has been far too long since I’ve gotten my hands on cheese. Soft and crumbling under my touch, I am certain this is expensive fucking cheese. My absolute favorite. Unlike the bread, I do not pull the cheese to pieces. Instead I pop the chunk into my mouth.
My jaw muscles ache in protest as I work away at the thick piece of intensely salty food. It’s so good. Just as I remember it. A moan escapes me.
“This is amazing,” I say through the far-too-large bite.
“Oh, my goddess! He gave you the cheese.” Miranda grins.
“That’s enough.” Bear growls.
“What?” With wide eyes, I stop chewing. “Did he spit in it? Is it made from goat semen?”
“That’s disgusting.” Leaning away, Bear looks utterly appalled.
“No, no.” Miranda chuckles. “Bear just really loves cheese.”
“I love cheese!” I smirk. Seriously, this food has made my attitude a thousand times better. They should have offered me food to begin with, and I would have come willingly.
Probably. Maybe . . .
“She loves cheese.” Miranda points at me, his attention fixed on Bear with suggesting eyes.
“A lot of people like cheese.” Bear pauses. “You could find many cheese-loving women down at the local Seven Elven Market.”
Oh, ho ho. Look at this guy here, recycling my jokes.
“I think it’s going to take a lot more than cheese for me to enjoy this grumpy-ass foot soldier who is dragging me back to an unfortunate arranged marriage.” A new breeze, so much colder than the last, tosses my skirts.
A shiver storms through my shoulders.
“It’s practically treason to not like the queen when you live in the Northern Kingdom.”
Miranda’s words echo oddly in my mind. He keeps calling me their queen, but I’m not. My people had always loved me as I had loved them. I made sure they were taken care of when my father was too busy with parties and politics. I can’t imagine a world where the people wouldn’t love me. Even if Bear isn’t my biggest fan. But that’s only because I’m making his job difficult.
Words linger on my tongue. Questions about the king and sarcastic comments that I should likely keep to myself. I ignore them all, though, as a snowflake lands on my bare foot.
“Guys.” My teeth chatter loudly. “In case I haven’t mentioned it, I’m getting a bit cold.”
Dark clouds drift in, dropping fat crystal flakes over every surface. The sea eats up most of the pretty flakes.
“Yes, and it will continue to get much, much colder.” Miranda points out, folding his empty cloth and tucking it into a pocket. “Best get this pathetic water fae off the top deck. Nightfall will kill her with the temperature drop.”
Bear folds up his own cloth and tosses it at the floorboards. “Want to open the doors for me? I’ll get her majesty.” He says the last two words with disgust.
How sweet.
“That’s an awfully rude way to say it.” I hug my arms across my chest for protection against the relentless wind.
“Give me.” He points to my hands.
I hold them up and let him wind the rope around and around until they are tied in a skillful knot.
In less than a heartbeat, my world is flipped upside down. The wind is knocked out of me as Bear tosses me over his shoulder.
“Fucking shit, Bear! Put me down! I am a Princess!” I holler, struggling at the uncomfortable feeling of his strong shoulders digging into my stomach.
I bounce against his broad back as he steps across the deck. His ass, perfectly round-looking in these pants that hug him just right, stares me right in the face.
It’s almost tempting to . . .
“Ow!” Bear halts. My body tumbles down on the deck.
Pain radiates through my face. It was the only thing capable of catching my fall when he let me go.
“You dropped me on my head!” I shout.
“Did you bite my ass?”
From a distance, I hear Miranda’s quiet “Oh, my.”
“You— I—” Bear mutters. “You are far more trouble than you are worth,” he finally spits out.
“You’re right. Take me back.” I shrug, still cradling my throbbing face.
He glares down at me, and I glare right back up at him.
“They rejected me, Bear! Do you understand that? I traveled to meet him. I wanted to meet him. I wanted to like him. I—I fucking thought I was going to live a fairytale with him.” My voice catches, and I choke my unsteady words back down.
His furious expression softens, and I hate the way he’s looking at me. Just be pissed at me. I can handle that. This sad, pitying look—I can’t even glance at him now.
And maybe he knows it.
“Just shut up.” Bear whispers it like it’s a sentiment. He lifts me more delicately, holding me close to his chest. My head leans into his warmth just a bit.
And for once, I have nothing left to say.
Seven
The Wanting Whispers
Syren
Cold continues to find its way in. It edges its way through the mountain of blankets piled high on my lap. The tip of my nose feels like ice.
From across the small cabin, Bear stares at me from under dark brows. His lips are a flat line cutting across what would be a handsome face if it wasn’t constantly twisted in bleak expressions.
“How much longer?” Staccato words are all I can manage. Short. Abrupt. Easy. Talking expels too much energy when I need my body to focus on keeping me alive.
Bear has yet to put on any layers. In the desk chair, he leans forward, his hands balancing on his thighs as he watches me shiver. He’s a fire fae. They say fire runs through their veins. I never believed that until now.
“We still have hours before we get to land, where we will begin the walk back.”
“Walk?” Physically, I recoil deeper into the blankets. How utterly repulsive. I can’t survive sitting on this tiny freezing ship. How am I supposed to survive walking in this cold?
“You water fae are such babies about the cold. You’ll be fine. It will get warmer once we reach land.”
“If I make it till then.”
Bear’s head lifts slowly as if he’s thinking over my words. Was me dying not a thought in his pretty little head?
He stands. His hands clench at his side once before he lets out a long breath and brings them up, tugging his shirt over his head as he does. Bronze skin and perfect lines of muscle are revealed in the dim lighting.
“What—what are you doing?” I tug the blanket closer to me, tucking it under my chin. Though my eyes betray me as I let them follow the perfect angle of his lean hips . . . down.
“Stop it.” Bear wags a finger at me. Scolding me like a child. “I am to bring back a princess meant to be queen. You must arrive alive. For fuck’s sake, your lips are turning blue.”
Boards creak under his shifting weight as he walks, no saunters, towards me. His entire demeanor has shifted from bored and brooding to a sultry confidence.
Or maybe that’s just how I perceive it.
Because even as he lifts my blankets and I hiss from the sharp whisk of winter air against my skin, he frowns.
“It’s for the people really.” He nods, talking himself into it.
What the fire fae fuck.
“I don’t want to share a bed with you,” I mumble, trying to angle myself away from him. Though as one of his feet slithers under the covers, I can already feel the relief of his heat.
“You mean to tell me you haven't shared your bed with a man before?”
“That’s not your business.”
He blinks slowly. He decides not to say anything further and slides completely onto the worn mattress.
Everything in me feels rigid and stiff, though it’s not from the cold. My lips curl downward.
This vile beast of a man stole me from my sanctuary.
And now, we’re spooning. Lovely. Just lovely.
I gulp down air as if I’m drowning, my body violently shaking.
“You know, this will work a lot better if you come closer.”
Closer. Yes, that is what’s scary about it. I need him to keep me from hurting, but do I need him that bad?
My body says yes as I shake once more. Damn it all.
“I’m fine,” I say with a chatter.
His dark eyebrow arches at me.
“I just—give me a minute. I’m about frozen solid, and it’s hard to move.”
His arm snakes across my stomach, wrapping around me and pulling me to him in one smooth movement. Warmth spreads over my skin, thawing even the most terrible spots of cold. The firmness of his touch against my stomach melds my back against his chest.
“Don’t you think the king will be upset when he learns that you spooned me?” I ask, breaking the heavy silence.
“Don’t think about that.”
“It’s hard not to think about my immediate impending doom.”
“I think he will make an exception just this one time,” he whispers, breath fanning along my neck. The quiet hush of his voice makes me wonder if he doesn’t want Miranda to hear us. If he is truly worried about the implications of his actions.
His defiance makes me like him. A little.
“So,” His big palm sprawls flat against my stomach, covering the place where my top and my skirt reveal too much soft skin to his rough palm. “Tell me what you’ve heard about your husband-to-be. I can help you learn a little something. Separate fact from myth . . . and maybe help you decide that this arranged marriage isn’t as bad as you think it’s going to be.”
“I highly doubt that.”
“Humor me,” he says, and I can’t help but shiver from every word he breathes against my neck.
Squirming against him, I think. What do I know about King Iri? I’ve never met him. I saw a worn portrait of him years ago. He was as mythical to me as the goddesses.
Slowly, like I’m trying to taste the words on my tongue before I say them, I speak. “I know he rejected me.”
“I wouldn’t call it rejected.” Bear’s words may just be words to him, but to me they are a burning arrow of pain directed at my heart.
I twist until I see his serious dark eyes. His brooding features look almost . . . concerned.
“He never met me. Never saw me. Heard piddly little rumors about me and decided I was no good. He took me away from my kingdom, only to send me away to be alone for the rest of my time, where one day I would die without any comfort of friends or family.”
His lips press tightly together, and his eyes shine with a deep sadness. Or is it pity? I do not want his pity.
“Are you close to the king?” I ask, rolling back over.
“Very close.”
“Do you like him?”
His breathing stalls, fingers drawing lazy circles along my stomach as he contemplates his answer. Time continues to tick away, and I think he may not answer at all.
Bear tilts his head into me, his lips hovering so near my neck that one small movement would leave a very dangerous kiss against my pulse. The soft edges of his mouth and deliciously rough beard brush across my skin. Everything in my body rebels against my stubborn, hating mind as a shiver tingles down my spine.
I don’t dare to move, too nervous that I’ll be the one who accidentally removes the small space between us. My body is a demented bitch: loving the heat and his all-to-possessive touch, yet hating how wrong it is.
“No, I don’t always like him,” he finally admits with a dark whisper.
“Why?”
“He is cruel. The Cursed King. The Cruel King.”
Another shiver down my spine, but this time for an entirely different reason. Fear drives my now-racing heart. It beats through me, leaving my pulse so wild I’m certain Bear can feel it thrashing against his lips.
“He has to make a lot of hard decisions. That’s worthy of respect, yes. Yet, sometimes I think that all his losses took some of his humanity with them. People tend to die when they get close to him.”
I do not want to die. I do not want to get close to him.
“He is called the Cursed King, as you stated before, for that very reason,” Bear adds.
“It’s rumored that he is the one that kills those close to him. Paranoid that they’ll take his throne.” Now it’s my turn to be scared that Miranda might hear me. And I know Bear heard me. But perhaps condemning myself for treason is the only way to remove myself from this marriage.
Breaking all the rules could force King Iri’s hand. Ending my life now is preferable to living side-by-side with that so-called murderer.
“Not everything you hear is true.” Bear leans away, allowing the tiniest sliver of frigid air to worm between us.
I roll until I’m cradled in his arms, and he is looking down on me, his brown locks hanging over his shoulder. Instinctively, my fingers find a strand of his long hair, and I twirl it in the silence. It’s surprisingly soft. The one soft thing about this brooding fae.
Bear watches me, his amber eyes deepening to a darker shade. That looks like it might work to my advantage.
“Tell me something that you’ve heard about me.” I glance up, holding his gaze from beneath my long lashes in the most practiced way. A look that always made my father’s guards swoon.
“I heard you were beautiful. In the most sinful of ways.”
“Well, that’s not really an accomplishment.” I flash him a slow smile. Moving closer, I press away any cold between us and let his skin burn against me. His big body fits nicely next to mine.
He looks away. “I hope you clean up nicely, because right now you’re as dirty as a street rat.”
“That’s rude.”
“My apologies, Princess,” he draws sarcastically.
“What else have you heard of me, other than my undeniable beauty?”
Bear rolls his eyes, but looks back down at me. “I heard you were stubborn and impulsive. Both, I’ve already learned, are true.” The hand against my stomach tentatively runs up my arm until his fingers are stroking my exposed collar bone. “I heard you also love your people, and your people love you.”
I don’t know why I’m surprised that he would willingly admit he heard something nice about me, but I am. I’ve only known Bear for a short period of time, and he doesn’t seem like the type of person who openly admits other people's strengths.
“Your turn.” Two fingers tilt my chin up to him in a dominating way.
As if that’s an invitation, I plant my hands against his hard chest. In the dim light, his eyes seem darker than the hints of red glinting in his beard. It’s like the light constantly plays tricks on my eyes when I look at him. His hair is mostly dark brown, but in the right light, it’s red. The telltale sign of a fire fae.
He grabs my hands in one large palm, a tingling promise shivering through me at the idea of him pushing my hands above my head, pinning me beneath his big body and letting every part of him thrust into me hard and fast. When he speaks, his voice is flat, and those dirty thoughts slip away all too quickly.
“Talk,” he says.
“I’ve heard that . . . he has a pet werewolf.”
“Werewolf?” His eyebrows furrow. “Like half-human, half-dog? What would he do with it when it was human?”
“Chain it up and walk it around as if it was still a dog? Call him Carlton and take him on walks in the park?” I offer.
“He has a wolf. All wolf, no part human. Her name is Jubilee.”
“Jubilee? Like a party.”
He nods. “Guess she’s the only good thing in his life. Or at least, that’s how it seems. He treats her better than some of his men. Though . . . in his defense, some of his men are whiny little bastards.”
He pauses like he realized he was rambling about a sweet little dog, and immediately changes the subject.
“Okay,” he continues, “I heard you hardly ever wear your . . . undergarments.”
“What?” I laugh. Taking a hold of his feverish grip, I bring his hand down as I slide my leg up over his hip. Confidently, I run his touch over my exposed knee underneath the thin layers of skirt. His eyelids lower in a sexy way. Slowly, I push his rough palm up my thigh until he brushes the ruffle of the short fabric along my curves.
“Undershorts, yes.” His chest rises and falls faster as I skim his big palm over the fabric of my dress until he is cupping my bare ribs under my bust. I pretend to not notice. “Though occasionally, I skip my corset,” I explain, as if his touch isn’t making me want far more.
“Those must be restricting.” His words are hardly words at all, only the bit of air released from his heavy breaths.
He feels good. He does. I hate to be that person, but his weakness is something that can be taken advantage of. And I really, really need an advantage here.
The boat rocks against a vicious wave, knocking our bodies together and trapping his hand between us, against my ribcage.
Roughly, I chew my lip, watching his mouth part. I lean in closer, considering what it would be like to press just the smallest kiss against the undeniably perfect pink of his lips.
Fingers dig into my skin as he takes my hands and twirls me away from him, flipping me flat on my back in an instant. “I know what you’re doing, and I’m not interested.”
Though his words tell me he wants nothing to do with me in that way, his body still presses closer, his arms wrapping around me until nothing separates us but the layers of wrinkled clothing.
My body trembles against his.
“Cold?” he rasps in my ear, making me shiver violently against his hard chest.
“No—yes. So cold.” I force another shake of my shoulders, but the humming laughter in his throat makes me wonder if he believes me at all.
I’m warm. Finally. But he holds me the rest of the night. We don’t speak. We don’t risk roaming hands. I don’t try to taunt him into kissing me.
Because if I were executed for treason against the Northern King, Bear would be too.
And for once, I almost care about Bear’s life.
Eight
The Cursed Kingdom
Syren
Worn wooden piers jut off the white mainland like jagged puzzle pieces. At least fifteen docks are within eyesight, though the boat we’re arriving on appears to be the only one at sea.
The absence of people makes this place feel somehow wrong. I imagine it was once busy, but now the ghosts of the people who used to work here only makes it eerie. Small pockets of milky gray fog are not helping it feel any less sinister.
A long wooden board leans off of the boat, resting against the dock and waiting for us to exit. My nails dig into the smooth wooden railing. I am tied with rope restraints once again, though it’s just my hands this time. Impatiently, I let out a sigh.
Miranda slings a tan pack over his shoulders, his pirate attire gone and replaced with black pants, a red tunic, and a heavy belt tilting on his thin hips.
I glare past him, directly at Bear, who doesn’t bother to make eye contact with me. I get the feeling he knows I’m looking at him. Wind dances through his brown hair and ruffles his flowing white top.
“Excuse me.” I hold up the spellbound ropes. “Can we get rid of these now? I don’t particularly feel like being dragged around like a dog.”
Bear chuckles, walking around Miranda to pick up the lead of my ropes. “Not a chance.” His tongue slides over his lips before he gives me a dirty smile. “Now, let's get going.”
With his large hands, he playfully tugs the restraints. “Bark, bark.”
It’s a real battle not to roll my eyes. “Amusing,” I mutter under my breath.
My feet drag against the thin wooden board, stuttering at every other step. Getting my land legs back may take a moment or two.
Past the docks, tall unkempt grass sways, hiding beds of wildflowers. The pretty colors dot the white land in a strange way. After that are a few rundown buildings that remain as lifeless as the pier.
“Where is everybody?”
Bear flinches at my question, his big shoulders tensing till they met his ears.
“They moved inland.”
Moved inland? Why would they do that? The coast is where trade would be the most prosperous, with other lands likely coming here for their rarest goods. Fishing should be plentiful here as well. What would cause people to move inland? More specifically, what would cause the entire town to move?
Miranda walks at my side, his gaze focused on the ground. Together, we trail behind Bear, leaving the wooden pier and the ship behind.
“Can’t you just fly us in with those fancy wings of yours? I’m not sure I’m made to do this much walking.” According to them, it is at least a day’s walk from where we docked at Nalerpera, the capitol of the Northern Kingdom.
Stepping through the tall grass, I wonder how these beautiful plants survive so well in such a cold environment. As if on cue, a shiver places goosebumps along my skin, and I tug the thick wool jacket Bear gave me tighter around me.
Bear was right. The terrible spot of cold we encountered has passed. It’s still much too cold for me, but it’s bearable. I thankfully don’t need to huddle with Bear for warmth.
A blush heats my cheeks as my thoughts dabble in the memory of his body pressed so close to mine. I wasn’t supposed to enjoy that. I was supposed to be disgusted by it, repelled by him, even.
So why does a small piece of me wish he would wrap me up in his intoxicating warmth as we walk? I don’t want to think about that.
“You think I want to carry both you and Miranda?” He glances over his shoulder at us.
I roll my eyes and keep walking.
I wonder if the city looks as I remember it? Has it changed too much for it to feel even remotely familiar? Something I’m bound to find out within the next twenty-four hours.
“Wait. When I visited the capitol with my father as a child, we docked our ship right on the outskirts of the city. Why didn’t we do that?”
“Are you going to jabber on the entire day?” Bear kicks at a small toy boat that litters the ground. It’s a vibrant blue, a stark contrast against the withering grass near the empty shops.
Avoiding giving him any more of my attention, I look at the buildings with their dusty signs. Or is it frost that covers them?
Veronica’s Seafood Bar and The House of Spells and Ocean Mist are some of the names that still remain without large “closed” signs slapped over them. Yet not a single sound could be heard other than the beating of the waves and our footsteps on the dirt path.
“Are you gonna avoid my questions all day?”
“Yes,” Miranda answers for him.
Bear stops, twisting his heels in the dirt. “Some people don’t want to see your future husband on the throne. You should be thanking me for the extra safety precautions, princess.”
“Bear, thank you for forcing me to walk through this ungodly ghost town and that dreary-looking forest when you know I don’t give a damn about my own life or its safety. You are truly too kind.” Mockingly I curtsy, the oversized boots he gave me making the movement awkward.
“So,” I continue, “what else can you do besides expel those hellish wings?”
“You’re still talking?”
“I’m trying to pass the time.”
“What can you do?” Miranda looks my way with intrigue. His hazel eyes looking like large saucers underneath his raised eyebrows.
I open my mouth to speak but someone else beats me to it.
“She can breathe underwater.” Muscles shift under Bear’s shirt as he fiddles with the weighted sword on his hip.
Bear doesn’t try to act like he is impressed. He should be. Breathing underwater is fucking impressive.
“I can do that among other things,” I eventually say after giving his backside my darkest glare.
“You breathe underwater? Like a mermaid.” Miranda hooks his thumbs under the straps of his bag, leaning closer to me. “How?”
“She’s no mermaid,” Bear says. “Just has fish lungs on her neck.”
Fish lungs? Oh, my goddess! I can’t be more offended if I tried. Saying it like that makes it sound gross. I am anything but gross.
With his entire body leaning toward me, Miranda reaches for my tangled blue hair. He pauses.
“May I?”
We both stop walking, and I give him a short nod. Careful not to even so much as brush my skin, he pushes the strands over my shoulder to reveal my neck.
Deep in thought, Miranda’s mouth parts, allowing him to chew his bottom lip. He stares at the scaly blue gills a second longer before he steps away and follows Bear.
“Well, I’ve never seen that before.”
“Yeah, and I’ve never seen fire wings before.” I stumble forward as Bear jerks the rope.
“Actually,” Miranda holds up one finger, “they are called incarne. One out of every five-hundred fire fae are born with these special gifts. Fun fact, the gifts tend to skip between one to four generations, but almost always stay within the family.”
“Keep moving,” Bear grumbles.
Slowly, the dusty shops lessen, giving way to abandoned homes. I try not to stare at a pair of shoes strewn across the empty roadway as if someone ran right out of them.
“Goddess. It looks like the world ended, and we are walking through the aftermath.” My hands tighten around the small bit of rope I hold between my palms. If I don’t keep it from hitting the ground and catching on things, because Bear won’t do it, then my wrists will be bloody and raw.
“For some people, it did,” Miranda says solemnly.
“Why did they leave?”
Silence is the only response to my question. Bear continues stomping forward, passing houses with upturned chairs, broken windows, scattered personal items, and other chaotic pieces of the life that once existed here. Not once does he spare a glance. His face is forward, and his gaze held to the distance.
“Did Bear know the people here?”
Miranda, finally unable to avoid my questions, watches Bear’s back as he speaks, keeping his voice low.
“He thought of a lot of people who lived here as family. A great sickness swept through, killing hundreds of the town’s occupants. The people left because the illness spread so fast, they had to quarantine the area.”
Unable to hide the disgust on my face, my lips tug downward, my eyes rotating over the scene again. I wonder what the chances are that I can get sick just by being here.
“Don’t worry,” Miranda adds. “The sickness has been long gone here. As long as you don’t try to eat the dirt or go around licking the household utensils, I think you’ll be fine.”
“You two won’t be fine if you don’t shut your goddessdamn mouths. Stop talking.”
Closing my mouth, I narrow my eyes at Bear. Even if he can’t see me with his back turned, I pray he feels my hatred.
And to think I almost kissed his broody lips.
Miming, Miranda pretends to lock his mouth with a key and tosses the imaginary item over his shoulder.
The edge of town grows closer and closer. The chill of the ocean and the white frost slip away with every step we take. Tall evergreen trees, looking anything but green, tower over us. Either the late afternoon sun is casting the darkest gray-and-black shadows over this area, or whatever illness that left this town abandoned also affected the plants.
I expect to hear the sounds of scurrying animals and the howls of hungry predators, but even the animals seem to have managed to leave this place behind. My heart pounds heavily in my chest. Thud-unk, thud-unk.
The silver blood running through my veins even seems to whisper that something bad happened here. Bad, dark magic happened here.
Next to me, Miranda holds onto his pack with white knuckles, his eyes taking in everything all at once. I have yet to see Miranda really wield a weapon. However, his keen gaze and confident steps are indication enough that he’s not worried about sinister magic like I am.
The thought makes me tense all over. Muscles I wasn’t aware I tighten more and more with each breath. The large boots under me leave footprints that suggest that three large men walked through this dangerous woodland, and not two highly skilled fae warriors and a very annoyed princess.
Clearly, Bear is the princess.
Thud-unk, thud-unk. Thud-unk, thud-unk.
For the entirety of our travels through every inch of the black forest, my heart rattles my rib cage. I try to ignore the way my body screams to break into a sprint. Even Bear notices that I quicken my pace, keeping only a short distance behind him.
His bitter, narrowed gaze tells me he senses me there, and he doesn’t like it. So I inch closer. It’s for my own protection, really. Or at least, that’s what I'll say if he voices his concern for why I’m stepping on the heels of his boots.
Time drags with nothing to do but watch the shuffle of Bear’s feet before me and pray that one of my many fears doesn’t emerge from the shadows. The sun travels across the sky, acting as my only clue that time truly slips by.
The first sign of life comes from the scattering sound of a flock of birds departing from their perches. Even their own gray speckled wings become part of the dark ambiance. It startles me enough that I gasp.
Bear raises an eyebrow, giving me a telling smirk. The asshole.
“This forest used to be the home of many dryads.” Bear breaks the unbearable silence. I have puns for days.
“How did this all come about?” The question has been burning through my thoughts on more than one occasion.
Pain radiates through my arms, my feet slipping in the extra space in the toes of the boots. My entire body falls forward until I right myself to stand toe to toe with Bear.
“The curse of your goddess brought a plague to our lands. Your absence only made it much worse.”
“Guess the king should have married me in the first place, huh?”
“Say whatever you want to say, but this is your fault,” he growls out.
“My fault? How is this my fault?”
For every three trees there were, there is now only one. The others lie rotting on the ground, inky glimmering fungi taking over the graying bark. The sun shines faintly before it dips down to leave us for the night. In the dim lighting that remains, the edge of a cliff comes into view.
“If you could have behaved properly like a princess, then maybe the king would have married you. He wants a wife to unite kingdoms, not a spoiled brat that he will have to babysit.”
I scoff, grinding my heel into the ground before I speak. Words never break my lips, though. Not when cinders of fire drift through the dark skies. I should have noticed it sooner, the black that tarnishes the sky, but until now I thought it was more of the cursed forest.
Bear and Miranda exchange an unreadable glance. My hands tremble in front of me before I ball them into fists to conceal my uneasy feeling.
The beautiful, shining kingdom I’d visited as a girl is covered in ash.
Nine
The Cursed King
Syren
King Iri, both cruel and unyielding, doesn’t bow to reason. This was the rumor I had not shared with Bear. The whisper of that one little truth carries across kingdoms. The words were spoken throughout the soot-coated streets of the Northern Kingdom, in the markets where people traded more than just goods, and in the holy temples of both Goddess Nature and Goddess Celeste.
A newly-crowned ruler who carries both the titles Crimson King and Cursed King never seeks advisors before he acts. King Iri always acts on his own to deliver swift punishment, refuse an offered alliance, or change someone’s fate with a banishment.
His unusual gifts and his knack for making choices that baffle his counsel make him quite the topic of conversation across the kingdoms.
Though the gossip could be wrong. I hope. We travel down the bustling street of Nalerpera. Fae like to say that I am a kind person when most of the time I am anything but. My kindness, as they call it, is purely the cheap bargaining for their love. The love that got me released from my banishment.
A shame I didn’t realize sooner that banishment was exactly what I wanted. To think I’ve wasted so many polite words on foolish leaders on behalf of my people. I did care for them, though. Someone had to.
According to the grapevine, King Iri and I have some things in common. Every action has its purpose. It happens that most of his acts are violent, bloody public displays, while mine are quiet conversations away from the public eye. Each of us strikes deals that come with more strings attached than the jester’s lyre.
Bear watches me carefully from underneath his velvet hood. A similar cloak drapes across my shoulders as well as Miranda’s. On the ashy streets, we don’t look out of the ordinary. Most, if not all, of the people with their charcoal-streaked faces wear capes just like mine.
This most certainly does not look like the magical city that lives in my memories. This place is the twisted skeleton of its former lavish lands. Soot coats the standing buildings, a reminder that one day, they too might be destroyed.
The three of us weave through the ever-more-present shelter of nightfall between the wavering light cast onto the pavement by the sporadic oil lamps. I’m not sure when the dirt trail we followed became flagstone. At some point, the city begins to look as though it is trying to put itself back together again.
Miranda acts as though he is taking inventory of our surroundings. His attention drifts from small clusters of people drinking and laughing outside a local pub, to young fae watching ea